


Woe Is All I Possess

by thatsoccercoach



Series: Which Door? [41]
Category: Outlander & Related Fandoms, Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: Gotham's Writing Workshop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-11
Updated: 2018-03-11
Packaged: 2019-03-29 17:53:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13932225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatsoccercoach/pseuds/thatsoccercoach
Summary: Some days are harder than others, especially when you are two.





	Woe Is All I Possess

                                                                

It had begun when Faith was a baby and Claire was on leave from her job at the hospital. She’d get lonely for Jamie, or any adult company, and would text him pictures of Faith. Occasionally, if the picture was particularly amusing, she’d include Murtagh on the text as well. If he saw something strange or unusual on the job, he’d send a picture back to Claire. Their only rule was that pictures must come with titles of five words or less. There were some images that Jamie had been thrilled to receive such as the one with a _finally_ smiling Faith and her first tooth. Others, such as the one Claire had sent complaining of the texture of the lass’s diapers when she’d transitioned to solid foods, he’d found completely unnecessary bordering on horrifying. Apparently her friends from the hospital found that one as fascinating as a bit of newly discovered research. Today’s picture amused him to no end because it encapsulated the passion with which Bree, their second daughter, lived every waking moment of her life. Claire’s title was priceless.

The lads at the fire station had sat down to eat and were all telling tales, poking fun at one another, or generally recounting events of the day.

“And what of you, Mac Dubh?” one of the Chisholm lads asked. “Did your Claire send you any new stories of the lasses?”

“Och, aye!” Jamie replied with gusto. He loved telling stories of his girls and the men enjoyed the listening. “Today ‘twas a picture of wee Bree howling like a wild dog, tears streaming down her face,” he laughed heartily, implying that the tears weren’t indicative of anything serious.

“And what was the portrait called?” asked Kenny Lindsay, knowing the game well.

“Woe is all I possess,” he snorted and began the tale.

* * *

“For the sake of all that is good and holy, _Brianna_ , stop this instant!” They’d been going around and around all morning long and Claire was completely done. Bree kept throwing her toys. And at this point, she was old enough to know better. She had a small soft rugby ball that Ian and Jenny had given her for a birthday or Christmas one year. She was permitted to toss that down the hallway, the walls of which Claire had cleared expressly for that reason. She had stuffed toys that wouldn’t hurt anything much if she threw them. Claire discouraged that, but she also chose her battles wisely. There were bigger fish to fry. Bree was throwing hard toys. For no apparent reason.

Blocks, one by one this morning, had been lobbed off the landing upstairs. The blocks had been confiscated by Claire. “Brianna Ellen Fraser, look at Mama. We do _not_ throw our hard toys. Do you understand?”

Cars had then been “driven” off the top of the piano while Bree sat on top of said piano. Claire, amidst many warnings, had watched her stand on the bench, then the keys, clenching a car in her mouth until she sat atop the thing. “Brianna, did you hear what Mama just said?” Claire fumed through clenched teeth.

“Yep, Mama!” she had chirped, not even looking at Claire, launching a car into the room and nearly hitting Faith who was doing a puzzle on the floor, Lord John splayed out by her side in a spot of sunshine. The cars had been confiscated as well.

Thinking that a distraction as well as a use of pent-up energy was in order, Claire added jackets and hats to the girls’ ensembles and took them outside. Faith had, predictably, set off to gather samples of flowers and insects. Bree had gathered several sand toys, climbed to the top of the play structure her da had built, and had begun chucking shovels, buckets, and other toys off the top. Under her breath Claire mumbled, “It isn’t as if you aren’t several months beyond the ‘uh-oh’ game that you played from your highchair. Gravity still works the same, Brianna.”

Under a shower of toys, Claire had fetched Bree and had another talk about not throwing toys. The sand toys had been confiscated. Brianna had wailed and sobbed and screeched out several three to five word sentences about, “My toys am gone!” and “Why Mama are _sooooo_ mean?” and “My am havin’ nothin’ left!”

Claire, sweat beginning to break out on her forehead, had grabbed the squirming, resisting Brianna and taken her inside, Faith and the puppy trailing behind as if nothing unusual was happening. They had a light lunch. Claire and Faith did at any rate. Then _everyone_ had laid down to take a nap.

* * *

“And after that, Mac Dubh?” the Chisholm lad asked him. “Did she continue to riot?” The men chuckled. They’d met Brianna and thought she was both adorable and intense. None would want to deal with her when she was in a mood. They could fight fires, but definitely couldn’t withstand a two year old!

“Nay,” Jamie grinned. “My wife said ‘twas like none of it had ever happened!” His laughter tumbled into the room. And to think they would be adding another bairn to the chaos in seven more months! “Wee Bree played with the toys she had left wi’out complaint. She played along wi’ Faith as well! ‘Twas a grand afternoon, apparently.” He chuckled.

 _Woe is all I possess_ he snorted. If only they could guide the wee lass so that _self-control_ was what she possessed they’d have a much easier time of it.

But she was their Bree and they loved her for it.

 


End file.
